


The Serpent King

by retrowavesasquatch



Series: The Bahamut Cycle [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Dragonborn - Freeform, Dwarf, Eggs, Genderfluid Character, LGBTQ Character, Large insertions, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Prolapse, Tiefling, bugbear, references to underage pregnancy, yuan-ti pureblood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-09-13 01:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrowavesasquatch/pseuds/retrowavesasquatch
Summary: Corvid, a former pirate, is on the run from the Merchant Prince Kwayothé, and has fled inland. He soon finds himself wrapped up in a quest he didn't ask to be on.





	1. Chapter 1

Knowing Kwayothé’s assassins would begin their hunt along the coast, Corvid fled inland. Secomber was a quiet place, and small enough the locals didn’t really squint too hard at his features. He was just a strange half-elf as far they knew, perhaps some draconic blood was running through his veins. That’d at least explain the eyes, and the hint of scales that peeked from between his collar and braid at the back of his neck.

The town was largely dominated by humans and dwarves. These people were farmers, fishers, miners, and guides. Simple people. Which meant Corvid stuck out like a sore thumb in his colorful clothing and glittering gold. More so as he traveled alone.

He desperately needed to find a tailor, someone who could fit him with some warmer clothes. It was midwinter, and Corvid got his wish to see snow. It was beautiful, made the air smell wonderful, but the cold cut him to the core. It made him sluggish. The woman behind the counter at the Silver Needle took his order and his silver. He offered a gold to add some fur lining. “As you please, sir. But can I make a suggestion? (certainly) Rabbit’s good and all, but you’ll be shedding worse than a dog come spring. I got some wolf fur, black as night that will go right pretty with your hair.”

“Wolf it is then. And thank you, my dear, for saving me from a future of picking hairs out of my britches.”

He left her as she blushed and promised the coat would be ready within a few days. The inn wasn’t difficult to find, as it shared the same building as the blacksmith. A large two story long house with a workshop off to the side. The man behind the bar introduced himself as Halder. “If you be needing a new blade, or repair work,” he nodded towards the side door leading to the smithy, “My wife Sedna will set you right if you got the coin.”

He thanked him, but said he’d prefer a room for a few nights. Corvid inquired about any happenings in the area, wanting to know how to plan his route once he departed. Halder shrugged his broad shoulders as he handed Corvid the key to his room. “Not a lot happens out this way. Occasional bandit raid, or dragon trying to root out the old fellow from his claim on the Moors. Folks turn up missing.”

“And no one bothers looking for them?”

The man hitched his belt up around his thick waist. “Guides and would be adventurers. Comes with the job, I guess. Least that’s what the mayor says. Truth be told, we can’t afford to lose any of our guards.”

Before he turned to leave, he paused, “who is that old fellow you mentioned?”

“Some black dragon what’s been living out there for as long as anyone can remember. He don’t leave the Moors for much, and doesn’t bother the town.”

Corvid only returned to the main floor for food. He’d removed his chain shirt and overcoat in exchange for a blouse and trousers. It earned him some curious glances, but no one approached him. That’s what he appreciated about small towns such as these. No one was cultured enough to really question where he was from, and too polite to make remarks to his face. Hells, since he left Waterdeep, he’d met only a handful of folks who had more than a vague idea of where Chult was.

The stew was hearty, and thick. He chose it over the option of sausage and potatoes. He wanted something that would warm him to his fingertips and toes. The rabbit was tender, and if he couldn’t have it lining his coat, he’d have it for supper.

As he ate, he listened to conversations. That bit of training from his past he still found useful. A man was worried his wife was sleeping with the stablehand he’d hired last summer; A dwarven woman was telling her friend about the group who’d hired her to lead them through the Southwood. What piqued his interest, however, was the mention of someone, or something called “the serpent king”. He managed to glean just enough to know it was to the south east, across the Moors. Somewhere close to the Serpent Hills.

With that new knowledge, he checked his map once he returned to his room. Boareskyr Bridge was south of the Moors, and the Forest of Wyrms east of that with the Serpent Hills to the north. Once his order was complete, he planned on crossing the Moors to reach the strip of land between the Hills and Forest. This serpent king could be worth looking into.

 

Secomber was predictably boring. Corvid soon found himself the source of most of the gossip, and eavesdropping ceased to be entertaining or informative. Though he did find most of the town has come to the conclusion he was at least a quarter green dragon. “Explains the smell under all that perfume.”

The day before he was to set out, his new coat hanging on a hook in his room, a young dwarf woman approached him outside of the walls. Upon closer inspection, he realized she was no more than a girl, with her downy adolescent beard. She explained that her friends had a bet on where he was from, and that she had three copper pieces on the fact that he was from the Pirate Isles.

For her boldness, he flashed her a gold capped smile, and confirmed that he was, in fact, from the Nelanther. It wasn’t completely false. He’d been there long ago, long before the shrine and the primordial being of tar and bone. His crew had sailed out of Ishau, running cargo to Irphong. Those islands were marked as a safe haven when things got a little too hot around the peninsula.

The dwarf girl grabbed both her braids and grinned. “I knew it!” She shouted over to a bush just off the road, “I told you Sia! You better pay up!”

The Sia in question slinked out of her hiding place. She was a scrawny human girl, a head and a half taller than the dwarf.

“Glad I could be of service, young miss.” He bowed low.

“Delilah,” the dwarf said, eyeing the gold necklaces that dangled in front of her. “Is that a dragon claw?”

“Deinonychus.” He tried his best to describe the creature as a ferocious flightless bird of prey. When she asked if they were from Nelanther, he shook his head. “Further south,” he said, and did not elaborate more.

The two girls followed him as he returned to the town. They had questions: “Why do you have breasts?” “Where’s your quiver at?” “How do you get gold teeth?” “Are there things with bigger claws than that?” “Are you a pirate?” “Where’s your ship?”

He distracted them by describing the larger dinosaurs found in the jungles of Chult, steering clear of his former career path until a stout old dwarf yelled from his porch for Delilah to “leave the poor man alone.”

She gave a heavy sigh and took her friend’s hand, “nice to meet you, mister.”

“Corvid. And it was a pleasure to meet the two of you.”

 

After leaving the tailor a tip, he ventured out beyond the walls, heading south. Despite warnings of goblins and the looming threat of a dragon, he intended on traveling across the Moors. Young Delilah could not be sneaky to save her life. He heard the dwarf girl in the brush, stepping on damn near every twig littering the ground. He pretended not to notice, thinking to himself that she’d go back home once he crossed the bridge.

He didn’t hear her again for a few miles. Movement out of his periphery caught his attention and he fingers the bow slung across his back. Unslinging it, he touched the iridescent black string, feeling a tingle of magic crackle against his fingertips. He drew the string back and waited. As soon as he heard shuffling behind the stones to his left, he fired a warning shot. A sickening green bolt flew from his fingertips in lieu of an arrow, and cracked against the earth in a shower of damp soil.

When he heard the cry, he rounded the stone, bow drawn. There, covering her head from the shower of dirt, was Delilah. What possessed the girl to follow him this far?

He pulled her up and when he asked why she’d come this far, she said: “I want to be an adventurer, like you.”

An adventurer? Hardly. Corvid was nothing more than a pirate, though he wasn’t sure that title applied this far from home. He was used to jungle rivers, ambushing the adventurers Delilah so admired, or cleaning up what was left of them in old trap filled temples. She didn’t need to know that. 

The likelihood of her being convinced to go home was low. “You can come along,” he finally said, but stressed that he was not her guardian. Her safety wasn’t his concern. She should understand the risks of being an adventurer, after all.

Initially he thought this arrangement would slow him down, but the girl was hardy. She was also full of questions, in particular, about the dinosaurs that roamed Chult. “Do they really get as big as dragons?”

He’d seen some spinosaurs that could probably put up a decent fight with an adult dragon. The girl’s eyes lit up when he described such a beast. The colorful sails along their spine seemed to interest her the most.

No, this arrangement wasn’t so bad. Without the conversation the trek would’ve surely been monotonous. Corvid spied nothing but wet grass, low shrubs, and rocks. Rocks as far as he could see.

“Don’t you have a family worried about you?” He asked on their third day of travel. The girl hadn’t liked sleeping on the soggy ground, but not once did she complain out loud.

She shook her head, “Ma and Da were lost when the Pink Stone Mine collapsed.”

“And the old man?”

“That’s Otz. He was the foreman, and took me in.”

“Wouldn’t he worry over you?”

She shrugged, “I’ve run away before, and he never says anything when I come back. Just assumes I’m off with Sia or something, I guess.” Delilah scratched her brown nose before suddenly rushing ahead with a: “Look! I think that’s a camp.”

Before he could grab her, he watched her run up onto the ridge and vanish. Then he heard the scream followed by the distinctive voices of goblins. Shit. He ducked behind the rocky outcropping, and watched two of the little creatures search for the person she’d been shouting to.

As he turned to find an alternate route around the encampment, something stopped him. Corvid didn’t like the uneasy sensation that tightened his chest and curled in his guts. He sighed and stepped out into view of the two scouts, “congratulations, you’ve found me. Now take me to your boss, lads.” He told them in a southern dialect of goblin. It was clear enough they understood him, and with their short spears prodding his lower back, he was escorted to the camp.

It was a small band. He estimated maybe eight at the most. At the outer edge of the camp were disassembled tents. Enough to house triple the occupants he counted. Heavy losses, he thought.

Corvid ducked into the largest tent with his two guards to find Delilah beside a massive bugbear. She was crying but unharmed, as far as he could tell.

“I’m afraid you took my traveling companion. I’d appreciate it if you gave her back to me.”

“Dwarves pay good ransom, Snake.” That caught Corvid by surprise. “My crew needs food, armor, weapons. You going to give me that?”

“No, but neither are the dwarves. This one’s an orphan.”

The bugbear snorted, “you lie. You snakes always lie. What would you be doing with her if she’s not worth anything?”

“I assure you, the girl is worth nothing.”

“Horse shit. If dwarves pay good ransom, you Yuan-ti can pay better.”

Corvid frowned, “there are Yuan-ti in this region? This far north?”

This time the bugbear stumbled over his words, “you don’t come from Najara?”

Ah, a name, at last. “I’ve never heard of it, my friend. I’m from Chult. Out of Port Nyanzaru.” He hoped the girl didn’t speak goblin, or she’d know he’d lied earlier.

“You’re a long way from home, Snake.”

“Indeed, and the girl is acting, in part, as a guide. I’m unfamiliar with this land.”

“A lost Snake, eh?” The bugbear laughed and put a big paw on the girl’s head. “Are you an orphan?” he asked in the common speech. “And don’t you lie, or I’ll have my crew gut him in front of you.”

She nodded her head, on the verge of tears once more. “Don’t kill him.”

“Good,” he let her loose, “Axe, Flip, take the girl out and give her some food and get her to stop blubbering. Tell the rest not to harass her. She’s a guest, not a hostage. Now, I’m going to have a conversation with our new friend here.”

He smiled at her, knowing the gesture would be reassuring. When the tent flap closed, he turned towards the bugbear. “Najara?”

“Aye, some big Snake took up there and crowned himself king. We figured the men or elves would take care of it before it got out of hand, but they can’t spare the soldiers. Not with that whole business going on with some lich cult.” He snorted. “You one of those pureblood, huh?”

“I am.”

“Heard they don’t take kindly to your lot. Not scaly enough.”

Corvid only inclined his head. That much was true. Prior to his career as a pirate, he’d been groomed to infiltrate the high society of Nyanzaru. He’d been born finely boned and beautiful for a female, enough so to pass for having elven heritage. Szolthuul had him contribute to a few clutches just to keep his genes in their pool.

He sat across from the bugbear as they discussed what he knew of the Yuan-ti. “Something or someone’s helping them, and it’s got power. They don’t come far into the Moors though. That old dragon’s not one to mess with, at least not yet. He’s been around centuries. Only seen him once since we took up here. Flew overheard heading north, probably to hunt. He’s a big bastard.”

The bugbear, who shortly introduced himself as Garak, called for one of the goblins outside his tent to bring some food and drink. After the little fellow sat down the tray, which was formerly a small round shield, Corvid asked Garak about payment for the information, and the girl. “I have no gold to offer,” he noticed the bugbear look pointedly at his jewelry. “To offer,” he fingered the claw, “these have more sentimental value than anything you could fence.” He held out his hand, showing the gold ring set with a fat ruby. “Colored quartz from a merchant stall in the Old District. They make them by the dozens for tourists.” He said, knowing the bugbear couldn’t tell cut glass from the actual thing.

“Now, as I was saying, I do have other means of payment.” He unbuttoned the coat, and pulled the blouse down enough to flash his breast. “Which I’m sure would be just as satisfying.”

To his surprise, Garak shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “That wouldn’t be right, Snake.” He said, and explained he felt that brought with it some issues of consent.

“Oh no, darling. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t consent fully. I haven’t had a cock in me since I left Waterdeep. I assure you, this would be a mutually beneficial agreement. A thank you, as it were, for the information and hospitality.” Garak cleared is throat when Corvid stepped around the fire and knelt in front of him. “Do we have an accord?”

“Alright, Snake. Just be mindful of those teeth.”

“And you those claws.”

He shrugged the coat off and let Garak pull the blouse down over his shoulders, exposing the scales there. One of those claws hooked into the golden ring looped through his nipple and gave it an experimental tug. When he groaned, Garak used it to pull him forward, into his lap.

The bugbear was massive in comparison. He’d met only a handful. Usually hired muscle on trading vessels, he’d only seen them from afar. Garak was a good foot and a half taller, and twice as wide. Curious, he reached down, running a hand over the bugbear’s crotch, feeling the line of his semi-stiff cock. He’d need to prep, and mentioned as much, if he was going to take it all.

After a quick visit to the latrine dug out behind the camp, Corvid gave the bugbear a show as he opened himself up. He watched as Garak stroked his cock, leaning back on one of his heavily muscled arm. He never once questioned why Corvid had breasts or a cunt. He’d been anticipating that, but it seemed the bugbear either had some knowledge of that matter, or simply didn’t care.

Once his fist could comfortably slip into his hole, Corvid approached Garak. He felt those paws squeeze his hips and his fat tongue dip between his lips. His breath was hot against his cunt as he teased his small cock. Corvid parted his legs, letting the bugbear’s grip keep him balanced. Those claws gripped his cheeks, spreading him as that tongue probed his loosened hole.

Corvid soon found himself impaled on that cock below him. It was a tight fit and he hissed as Garak buried himself to the hilt. “Eyes a little too big, Snake?”

“Hardly.”

Garak’s claws dug into his flesh as he moved Corvid, though never broke the skin. He used long strokes, lifting him until he felt the flared head of his cock stretch his hole, until letting him sink down to the base. He felt his cunt drag through the fur on the down strokes, slicking the hair until it ceased to tickle his folds.

They shifted, Corvid standing on unsteady legs, and dropping to all fours. He glanced over his shoulder, “well, are you really going to fuck me, you brute?” He dropped his chest to the ground, and braced his hands against the elk skin. Garak was on him in an instant, driving his cock into Corvid who gave a shuddering gasp from the shock. The bugbear thrust into him like a frenzied dog on a bitch. He dug his fingers into the rug to keep himself from being pushed across the tent. Corvid came in a hot rush, feeling it trickle into his hair and along his abdomen.

His joints were jelly by the time Garak finished himself. The bugbear rubbed the broad head of his cock against Corvid’s, teasing him until he squirmed. “You going to hold that cum for later, Snake, or push it out for me?”

He lifted his head enough to look back at the bugbear. “Oh ho, do I sense a fetish?”

Garak chuckled, “always liked seeing a rose bloom. Don’t see any reason to be embarrassed by it. It’s a lovely sight.”

“Well, since you have been so hospitable.” Corvid obliged, feeling the thick cum start to drip from his hole down his cunt, before spattering onto the elk fur. Garak’s thumbs pulled him apart when he pushed again, and ran his tongue over the red flesh that blossomed.

Finally spent, he sank onto the fur and felt the cum stick to his belly. Garak’s claws teased his hole for a moment, before he eased his bulk down beside him. “You know,” he admitted. Corvid looked up to see the bugbear’s ear tips darkening. “Always thought you snakes had poison cunts.”

Corvid laughed, “and yet you delved right in.”

“There’re worse ways to go.”

 

He wrapped his coat around himself and, with some effort not to hobble, walked to the creek that cut across the camp. With Garak’s tent blocking him from view, he washed himself off. As much as he’d rather have just fallen asleep, he didn’t feel like getting an infection this far from civilization.

A shout of “Corvid!” startled him as he came around the side of the tent. Delilah rushed over to him, “sir, are you alright?”

“Oh, more than fine, my dear. Have our hosts been agreeable?”

She nodded, “Yeah. We had some supper, and Sticks wants to teach me how to shoot a short bow. Can I?”

“You don’t need my permission.”

She grinned and hugged him around the waist.

Corvid watched her run off to join the goblins by the fire. He stopped one of the little fellows and asked if they could set up a tent for her, “near your boss’s. In case she needs me for something.”

The goblin squinted up at him, debating whether or not to obey this stranger. He didn’t have long when Garak stuck his shaggy head out of the tent, “ah, there you are.”

“Worried I’d run off without a kiss goodbye?”

With a polite cough, the goblin quickly muttered something about getting a tent for Delilah.

 

He spent the night with the bugbear. It was deliciously warm next to him. For the first time since he left the Golden Unicorn with their complementary hot water bottles, he slept soundly. The chill never touched his toes.

After a morning piss, he and Garak shared breakfast and a lazy fuck. Draping over the bugbear’s chest, he let his cock soften within him until it slid out on it’s own. It was sorely tempting to accept his offer to stay with the goblin band. A spell slinger would benefit them, he thought, not giving that information away. Let them think I’m a simple sellsword with a stowaway. It’ll make it easier to turn him down.

“Destiny calls, darling.” He said, tying his sash and securing the belt around his coat. “I do hope our paths cross again,” he ran a finger down the length of the bugbear’s cock, tucked away in his trousers. He teased the cloth covered head until he felt him stir. Corvid knew the chances of them meeting were slim, but a small part of him genuinely hoped to see Garak in the future. He crushed that feeling until it ceased to make his gut uneasy.

Outside, Delilah had been outfitted with a cloak, a belt with a dagger the length of her forearm in a cracked scabbard, and a short bow. “I see you’ve made friends.” 

Before they departed, Garak had one of his scouts update his map. They knew roughly where the dragon’s lair was, and stressed that he should avoid the area. “Keep clear of that foul fog.”

Jig, the scout, pointed out where they’d seen Yuan-ti and the aftermath of their attacks. “We found some man folks dead here,” he indicated an area just west of the Hills. “They’d been picked clean of anything valuable.”

The dwarf girl stood on tip toes so she could see the map Corvid held. He felt her lean against his side when she lost her balance. “Da told me they used to have mines there,” she said, tracing her finger over the Hills. “But the dragons drove them out.”

“Aye, they’re still nesting in those tunnels,” Garak confirmed. “Mostly coppers, from what I’ve seen. They don’t venture this way though.”

“Because of the black dragon?”

The bugbear nodded, and placed his paw on her head. “Metallic or not, I wouldn’t trust them to be friendly if you wandered into their territory. Dragons don’t take kind to folks with their nests close by.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Though we shouldn’t have to cross them. I intend to skirt just south of them.”

“Fair plan, but you keep an eye out for your brethren, Snake. Something just don’t feel right about them.”

Delilah looked over her shoulder after the camp was out of sight. “Goblins are nicer than Otz made them out to be. Hey, why did that bugbear call you Snake?”

He could continue his ruse with her, but if she insisted on being his travel companion, she was certain to find out sooner or later. So he told her he was a pureblood, which led to a longer explanation of what that meant, and the hierarchy in their society.

By the time Delilah ran out of questions, it was near dusk. Corvid pointed out a cluster of boulders that should make a decent camp.


	2. Chapter 2

Something shook him roughly. It was still early, he was still tired, and the chilly air made him reluctant to respond. “Corvid. Corvid! Wake up!” He cracked an eye to see Delilah leaning over him. The girl looked panicked, and he sat up, nearly colliding with her chin.

“What is it?” He grumbled and blinked a few times to clear the sleep fog and eyeliner that made his lashes stick together.

“Dragon.”

It took a few seconds for him to really process what she just said. When it struck him, he got up into a crouch as Delilah pointed out between the boulders they’d hidden away in for the night. Sure enough, he saw the hard black scales of the dragon glistening in the pre-dawn light. The beast’s sunken face swung in their direction, scanning the area before turning away. He knows we’re here, Corvid thought. We’re just not important enough to warrant the attention. At least that was what he hoped.

This close, he could smell the biting odor of rotten vegetation and swamp gas. Together they sat in silence, scarcely breathing as the old dragon spread his wings and launched into the air. The force was enough to push his foul air between the boulders, and ruffle their hair. Delilah covered her nose and gagged.

He opted to wait a while longer, in case the dragon was simply patrolling his territory. “Do you think the goblins will be okay?” Delilah whispered, though there was no reason to do so.

Corvid shrugged, “I suspect they will, as they avoid his lair.”

He heard her say “good” to herself. Her fist was wound tight in his coat tail, but it soon relaxed as the sun rose.

After a cold breakfast of hardtack, for Corvid didn’t want to risk a fire, and a handful of collected berries; they gathered their packs and set out. He kept glancing up, watching the sky. As did Delilah, who, for the first time since they met, was silent.

 

The Moors stretched on. A sea of soggy peat and stone. The girl stayed close to his side, occasionally grabbing his coat to slow him down. She may be hardy, but her short legs made it difficult for her to keep up when the terrain wasn’t flat.

He thought back on her questions yesterday. His life before piracy hadn’t been something that’d come to mind in a long while. Corvid held no love for the vrael, but he could appreciate the training he’d received. It’d benefitted him over the years. The lessons on courtly manner, how to hide your scales, who to befriend, and how to speak enough tongues to get out of sticky situations.

His features had garnered him preferential treatment above many of the other purebloods within the palace. He’d been beautiful, with a melodic voice that only betrayed a hint of the natural rasp their people had. Corvid had been draped in silks, jewels, and bound with chains of gold to his superiors. Just as he’d been bound when performing his duty of contributing his genes to their species.

It was Isu, the broodguard watching over him, that freed him. After he finished laying his second clutch, Isu helped him feign a fever and infection. It was his job to get him to the healer, and he shoved Corvid into the trash chute once they were out of sight. It was foul and undignified, but he landed beyond the walls. Isu never followed.

A life in the palace hadn’t prepared him for suddenly being dumped into the jungle. He’d studied maps as part of his lessons, but had never seen beyond the courtyard in his fourteen years. Standing in the sewage drain, he stared at the expanse of green stretching before him, a scared little thing covered in muck and ruined silk.

Fourteen, he thought with some revulsion. He hadn’t known any other way until he slithered out of the jungle, and onto the Olung river bank. A Yuan-ti was considered an adult once they were able to reproduce, and treated as such. You had a job to do, a status to uphold in the world. It was your duty to create perfection. It was simply common place until the old pirate that’d fished him out of the water looked at him in alarm and said: “Ubtao’s molten balls, child.”

The mention of having laid eggs as Szolthuul wished it, Corvid still somewhat proud of the accomplishment, seemed to repulse the human.He’d told him that “no girl aught be having babes that early,” and soon offered him the choice: Join his crew; or be dropped off at Port Nyanzaru. He chose the former, for he had no coin or auvrael in the city. The latter choice would likely have had him returned to the palace or killed on site, depending on the whim of Szolthuul.

Losi was the first friend he’d made. The old pirate treated him as if he were his child, and often called him “daughter” or “girl”, for his name was difficult for the man to pronounce without front teeth. They were terms he’d heard Szolthuul say to her favorites, but through Losi’s mouth they lacked venom.

The further from the palace he got, the more Corvid was allowed to come into his own. Those terms of endearment shifted to “son” and “boy” once he confided to Losi that he did not think himself as female. He’d looked at Corvid, squinting in the light reflecting off the river’s surface and asked: “Your mind made up, then?” After he nodded, Losi handed him the net line with a “fair enough.”

Shortly afterwards, the crew slowly began to take to the change as well.

It provided an extra layer of protection. Szolthuul would be looking for a female, not a cabin boy on a pirate junker. The long exposure to sunlight soon darkened his skin, making it difficult to tell from afar just how green he was. With a hat pulled low, he seemed to be a young half-elf, perhaps a bastard of one of the men on board. No one spared him a second glance when they reached Castiglair. “My boy’s got some dragon in him somewhere,” Losi would say with pride, clapping him hard on the shoulder. It would make him stumble until he grew enough to withstand it.

Corvid watched Delilah jog over to a patch of scrubby brush to have a piss. He missed that old, leathery skinned man. The way the lines in his face deepened when he grinned, showing off that wide, pink gap where his upper front teeth had been. He’d been fascinated with his hair, thinking, when he first came to consciousness on the deck, that he was a pureblood as well. It was coiled in tight locks that resembled gray snakes. His own hair was too fine to hold such a style, but Losi had taught him how to braid, to help keep it out of his face.

It was a shame he died before the transition. Corvid was certain the old man would’ve had fun poking at him over his vanity: How he’d curl his mustache with scented wax, and brush oil into his short beard until it shined. At least the rest of the crew had survived the escape from the temple.

They’d all mourned the loss of their captain. Corvid’d felt an empty feeling in his chest that kept him below deck for several days. It was a sensation he’d never felt, nor did he enjoy it. It’d tugged at him and made his eyes water if he passed Losi’s chair on the deck. He knew now that it was grief. None but Looping Coil came to him in that time. The Tabaxi, who’d initially refused to look at him directly for a fortnight after the transition, was the first to nominate him as captain.

He already shared the captain’s quarters, so the promotion was seamless. He still kept his bed, leaving Losi’s as it had been. It would be another two months before he slept in it. Grief became habit, and habits are difficult to break. It wasn’t until the arcane gifts his patron’d granted him became apparent that he was forced to take Losi’s bed.

One morning he woke from a nightmare and blasted a hole through the cabin wall. It’d alerted everyone on board, thinking they were under attack until Corvid sheepishly admitted to what happened. Unfortunately the blast not only took a good portion of the wall, but a chunk of his bed and mattress as well. They were far from any friendly trading posts, having ventured deep into the jungle.

Corvid, with the help of Looping Coil and two other men, Tsu, and Ibrahim, patched the hole. It left the cabin drafty, but would be suffice until they could reach their destination. Serena owed him a favor, and he’d planned on cashing in on it the next time they docked outside of her little riverside fort.

In the end, Serena was his downfall. Like many of those native to Chult, she distrusted magic users. It was she who sold he and his crew out to Kwayothé. Corvid would never forgive her for that, the execution of his crew was on her head. Of course, as Na’bi pointed out, any self respecting captain would’ve died alongside their crew. Corvid was a vrael olo at heart, despite everything, and valued self preservation over honor. It was easier to place the blame on Serena rather than wallow in self hatred for cowardice. They were dead, and the dead don’t give a damn.

After some brutal means of persuasion, Corvid found himself employed by Kwayothé. She was a deceptively beautiful mistress. Below that mask of youth and innocence, was a gleeful cruelty. He’ll never forget her face as she dissolved his finger in acid, the way she smiled at him and shook the vial. What was left of the bones and ring rattled in the glass.

What saved his life was not how he flipped, but the fact that the merchant prince found him useful. A magic user under her employment would benefit her greatly, for unlike her fellow princes, she bore no ill will towards those with arcane gifts. “Work for me, Zhenthis, and I will forgive your transgressions.” And with that he was indebted to her. He and his crew had ambushed two of her caravans, and she read off the losses in her ledger. A total of ten thousand gold, she’d said, and stressed that she rounded down because she liked him. Once he earned that, he’d be free to go as he pleased. Until then, he was to serve as her personal bounty hunter.

Debt added up quickly: Travel and medical expenses, food, clothing. She kept it all in her ledger. Each item added to the amount he would need to work off. If he grew ill, she counted that as time lost if he was on an assignment. His freedom always dangled before him, just out of reach.

After a target fled north to Calimport and vanished in the desert, Kwayothé totaled the cargo stolen. She clucked her tongue and frowned at the ledger in mock disappointment. With feigned regret, she informed him his debt took on an additional two hundred platinum.

While Corvid wasn’t one to express his emotions, the anger was difficult to quell. Still, he kept his face neutral until the door to his room was secured. The aftermath left his apartment in shambles, and he stank of coal tar. It was then, as he lay on the rug, exhausted from the spent energy, he began to formulate his escape.

He’d always had help before. Isu, Losi. Corvid was alone, for Kwayothé had eyes everywhere, as did the other merchant princes. He knew enough that they often dealt with one another, but not enough to know their power structure. So he placed his trust in the captain of a cargo vessel, hoping enough coin would pay for a blind eye to the oddly tanned half-elf. After paying his way, Corvid climbed aboard, then slipped out through the window in his cabin.

Below the docks, he watched the two figures in black silks come aboard. The first time he’d journeyed through the jungles would’ve ended in his death had Losi not rescued him. This time he was better prepared. He knew the rivers, and safe havens. This time he had a patron watching his progress and iridescent naga sinew around his wrist.

 

The sun was drifting close to the horizon behind them, casting the Moors in deep shades of greens, blues, and purples. Other than the chill, he found himself liking the scenery. If the current circumstances didn’t warrant moving often, he’d almost consider setting himself up in this region.

A tug on is sleeve and a soft: “I’m hungry” shook him from the violet tinted mountains ahead. Delilah looked up at him. Her braided hair was wild with flyaways from the winds that whipped about them. He assured her they’d stop soon, once he found a decent camp. Namely one that would provide a buffer, so they could have a fire. Corvid didn’t relish cold dinner, or unboiled water.

They were left fumbling in the dark by the time a campsite presented itself. It was by no means a great camp, or particularly sheltered, but it was better than nothing The wind still cut through them between the stones, and kept the fire from becoming more than a small source of warmth. Corvid hunched over the kindling and carefully added more grass and twigs. It popped and hissed, filling their little nook with stinging smoke.

Delilah and he shared some dried meat and hardtack. Goblins weren’t exactly known for their cooking prowess, or their love of seasoning. Supper was tough, salty, but filling. It did mean they drank more of their purified water than he wanted.

The dwarf girl drew her knees up, and hugged them. “Where are we going?”

This surprised him. Of all the questions she’d asked thus far, he’d expected that to be the first. Now, so far from her home, if she didn’t agree with his destination, what then? Turning back would mean she’d have to cross the Moors alone, and Corvid wasn’t about to escort her back to Secomber; not this close to his goal.

Goal, he thought. What was it exactly? Curiosity certainly was the main motivating factor, but he’d long cut ties with his race. So why seek them out now?

“Najara,” he told her, and explained that he wished to learn how the yuan-ti are regaining power there.

“Are we going to stop them?”

Alone? That was insanity. A warlock and a dwarf child against one who crowned himself king? Not likely, he surmised, but with the right information into the right ears, they may have a chance. “Yes.”

She smiled then, and after a while, curled up beneath her goblin cloak to sleep. Corvid watched the dwindling fire for a while longer, until his eyelids grew too heavy.

He dreamed of net fishing with Losi.


	3. Chapter 3

Corvid removed his hat and dumped the gathered rainwater outside their little nook. He shook his head and scratched his scalp where the tricorn had been pressed tight and low. It had been a miserable morning that’d lead into a miserable day. The rain had started before dawn, a light mist that quickly turned into a downpour. It slackened around noon, giving them hope that soon the clouds would part. When the wind picked up and the sky darkened further, he and Delilah took shelter in a ravine. It kept them out of the violent winds, but they were forced to keep a close eye on the ephemeral stream that ran through it. They were prone to flooding, and Corvid wasn’t sure just how good of a swimmer his companion was.

Delilah fished through his pack for the flint and tinder he told her was somewhere in one of the pockets. He hadn’t anticipated her not realizing he meant the front pocket, and not the interior. The thought hadn’t occurred to him until she asked: “Why are you carrying these jade rocks?”

The question made his stomach drop when he turned to see the girl holding one of the polished jade eggs in both hands. “Oh that? It’s some trinket I picked up in Waterdeep. The peddler claimed it’d been mined in the Sky Lizard Mountains. I’m ashamed to admit that I was too homesick to see through the flimflam.”

Years ago it’d’ve been nothing to tell the girl what those eggs were used for. She thought herself old enough to be an adventurer, then she’d be old enough to know what sex toys were. Now, he looked at her young face with it’s innocent curiosity, and couldn’t bring himself to say truthfully what he used those for. Though he dearly wished whatever gods were watching would open the earth to swallow him, as the object that’d been up his ass not a fortnight back was in the hands of an adolescent girl.

Fortunately she lost interest after declaring jade was a common stone, and that he’d likely paid far too much. That he didn’t doubt. Those eggs had cost him a platinum, but the rich, dark teal with gold veins running through it’s shining surface had caught his eye. They were beautiful, and just the right size for what he’d wanted. A nice little step up from the onyx eggs he’d formerly used.

While Corvid provided a buffer for the occasional gust of wind that whipped rain into the overhang, Delilah worked on trying to light a small fire. She pushed gravel around to make a small barrier wall as she struck the flint over the small pile of ripped parchment. The only dry kindling had been some pages from her journal. She’d been reluctant to use it, and only tore three pages from the back.

It flared and withered, then died before she could breathe some life into it. “Oh bother it all,” she muttered under her breath.

Corvid sat hunched with his back against the wind and rain, thankful for the wolf fur more and more. While his hair hung dripping and clinging to his neck, the rest of him was dry.

He wondered why he still carried those eggs around. With the threat of Kwayothé’s assassins he never remained in a place long enough to find a trustworthy partner to really have some fun. Corvid loved nothing more than to be bound and filled to the point of bursting, begging to be able to push the eggs from his hole. It was a fetish he’d never have thought he’d enjoy, not after his unpleasant experiences within the temple. No, he’d been reluctant at first, when Dooley had suggested it one evening.

 

Doolagarl was the last addition to Corvid’ crew, a young goblin woman with a slow tongue but a quick sword. She was running from Queen Grabstab, who’d decided Doolagarl was trying to take her throne. Which turned out to be true, but her plan hadn’t worked out as she’d expected. The small band of usurpers who followed her had turned against her at the last moment when they realized the Queen’s guards were better armed.

He and the goblin got on swimmingly. She followed orders on the deck, and gave them within the cabin. Not once did she breach their agreement or override his authority as captain. Though, he suspected, had Kwayothé not intervened, Dooley may have made a grab for power down the line.

She was fiendishly clever with a rope, and took advantage of Corvid’s flexibility. Once, she’d managed to string him up on a pulley system from a ceiling support, leaving him suspended over a strap on she’d mounted on the floor. Inch by inch she lowered him on it until the head of it was visibly bulging from his lower abdomen. The merchant she’d acquired it from claimed the strap on was a replica of a blue dragon’s cock. He doubted it was size accurate, but grew quite fond of the way the triangular head popped inside him.

Their games took a new turn when she came into possession of a four piece set of replica rainbow serpent eggs. Each were the size of his fist, and their pearlescent surface glittered in the lamp light. They were beautiful, but overall fairly worthless.

She posed the question one evening, and he’d given a firm “no.” It wasn’t until she suggested his other hole that he acquiesced. That night had him bound to the bedpost by the wrists, with his ankles fastened to his forearm. It kept him pliant and open as she worked her fists into him, purposefully leaving his cunt alone, knowing he was apprehensive. Dooley never inquired why he felt so strongly about eggs up his snatch, and he was thankful for that for he didn’t wish to tell the tale more than once. Lost took his past to the grave, and Corvid wasn’t inclined to have another person in possession of that knowledge.

The first egg found some resistance, but the goblin worked it in with the aid of oil and a comforting hand on his thigh. The second, third and forth slipped in easily. He’d felt impossibly full, and found himself growing wet from the sensation of them clacking together within his canal. Dooley pressed her fingers into him, encircling the tip of an egg. She’d had him push enough to crown before pressing it back inside. Over and over until he was hard and dripping, begging to be touched or sucked.

When she let him pass two of the eggs, she eased her both fists into his hole and pumped viciously until he gaped when she withdrew. Her hands held him apart as he pushed the third free, which helped him bloom. By the forth, the effort had caused him to unfurl. Dooley fingered the prolapsed flesh before guiding it back in with her fist. She’d let him come then, sucking his cock while she fisted his loose hole.

Afterwards he looked forward to seeing the chest being removed from the drawer under the bed. He no longer thought about the stone table with it’s cushions and chains, or the dispassionate broodguards standing watch.

 

“There’s a cave,” Delilah said, pointing out the fissure behind the flat stone Corvid where rested his legs. She crawled across his thighs to inspect the crack. “Do you have any spells to make light?”

“Afraid not, darling, but I have some torches in my pack…if they haven’t been soaked through.”

The ones at the center of the bundle were still dry. Corvid set the damp ones out at the back of the overhang. He’d tie them to his pack once the rain ceased, to let them dry as they walked. Behind him the torch flared to life. When he turned around, he watched as the dwarf’s boots slipped through the fissure.

Damn it, girl. Corvid squinted into the gap between the stone to see her standing in an open cavern. She waved at him to follow. “It’s dry,” she whispered. After he squeezed himself into the tight opening, Delilah explained that there may be mushrooms they could gather. Her parents used to bring some back from the mines. The white capped ones seared in butter and garlic were her favorite.

While mushrooms weren’t his favorite food, too spongey, it would be a nice change from dried meat and tough hardtack. She left the torch to mark the way back, and they began to search the cavern, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. Delilah’s were superior to his, given her deep dwarven heritage. She could make out detail as if the sun filtered in from above. To Corvid, everything was varying shades of gray. It comforted him that nothing but he and Delilah gave off heat. Her warm shape was a few steps ahead. They were alone.

To the girl’s delight, they came across a cluster of the white capped mushrooms she desired. Corvid squatted alongside her and helped slice them free from the stone. She wrapped them in her cloak carefully and tied it into a sack to sling over her shoulder.

Corvid followed her lead. Here Delilah was confident, and able to seek out the little nooks and crannies where edibles hid. The makeshift pouch was fat by the time they decided to head back towards the entrance. Without her, he’d’ve gotten lost in the tunnels that twisted and turned.

A faint echo made him pause, and place a hand on Delilah’s shoulder to stop her. He held his finger to his lips when she turned to ask what was the matter. When he looked behind them he saw the quick blip of something warm vanish into the rock. Corvid opened his mouth to taste the air and found he didn’t recognize the scent.

He’d left his bow and scimitars back outside the cavern, as the squeeze had been too tight.While he didn’t need the arcane focus, it certainly helped make channeling his spells less taxing. The tips of his fingers tingled as he called on his other blade. The longsword oozed forth, solidifying into the dark, bone blade of his patron. Delilah covered her nose against the strong odor of burning tar.

The weight of it in his hand gave him comfort. “Let’s go, and keep it casual, darling.” The blade glowed white hot in his periphery, though the tar stained bone gave no light within the depths.

His fingers tightened against the still warm pommel as they walked. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as the sound of pebbles falling followed them. The scent grew stronger as they squeezed through a narrow passage, and his vision dulled as the faint light of the near dead torch glowed red around the next bend.

The sound stopped, and a distinct sensation of dread curdled in Corvid’s guts. He whirled just in time to see the flat pink nose of a landwyrm wrinkle up to expose the rows of needle sharp teeth. The wyrm hadn’t expected the slash across it’s face, and screeched when the blade bit into the gap between it’s tough, bruise colored segments.

He leapt back to avoid the claws and heavy tail as it whipped angrily at him. Before he could shout at Delilah to get back to the fissure an arrow sank into the wyrm’s black eye. It fell in a spasm of limbs and gnashing teeth before finally laying still. The yellow light in it’s intact eye faded to a dull orange before fizzling out.

Corvid turned to see the girl standing at the bend of the tunnel, goblin short bow in hand. Her mouth was open, as if she couldn’t believe she’d slain the creature herself. “Damned fine shot, darling” was all he could say.

 

She helped him drag the landwyrm to the cavern entrance. In the light he confirmed the creature was what he suspected. The illustrations he’d seen were surprising accurate, though it seems the creature did not shoot acid from it’s rear. Together in the narrow crack of cloudy gray afternoon light, they salvaged what meat they could.

“Do you think there’s more?” Delilah asked around a mouthful of wyrm steak and seared mushrooms. They’d moved what they could into the cavern, as the rain had not slackened but intensified enough to drench the hidey hole they’d occupied earlier. The stream had risen substantially, and Corvid couldn’t see them leaving without having to cross it.

Corvid, admittedly, didn’t know much about these creatures. Only what little he could remember from a book on Underdark beastiary, and that was predominantly limited to the bizarre illustrations. He’d only encountered their tropical swamp dwelling cousins, which were fiercely territorial. “I’d imagine we’d’ve seen them by now,” he said, assuring himself as much as the girl. Unless it had a mate somewhere in the tunnels, he thought.

Luckily it didn’t, or if it did, the mate didn’t seem bothered by the loss. With a full belly and dry boots, Delilah was inclined to explore the tunnels again. She told him about other mushrooms, and lichens that grow in the depths. Particularly, she told him how great those were wilted down with some salt, pepper, and onions.

This time Corvid unstrung his bow and wound the sinew around his wrist. The scimitars would only get in the way, as would his coat. Though the air was chilly, no wind bit through his clothes. It was bearable, but he longed to be back by their cook fire once the chill seeped through his fingers.

Unlike their previous trek, Delilah hung close, looking to make sure he was still a few paces behind. He feigned ease for her sake and his own peace of mind. Corvid wound his hair up into a knot and tied it to keep the still damp strands off his shoulders. 

Deeper they delved until Corvid’s gray toned darkvision gave way to the bioluminescent fungi. It hung in strands from the ceiling, like rain drops suspended in time, pulsing and twinkling soft blue light. The sight stopped him for he’d never seen such a thing. Only a tug at his sash drew his eyes from the beautiful swaying tendrils.

There was just enough light and dark that he was still able to pick out the warm bodies of the creatures that inhabited these tunnels: Crawly, scuttlely things that fled from the vibrations of their footsteps. Delilah occasionally stopped to give chase if it was something she found particularly tasty. Her makeshift pouch soon grew laden with mushrooms and a few crawlers.

Around a sharp bend, light nearly blinded them both. Filtering from a fissure that ran the length of the floor, bright torch light illuminated the small cavern. Here the fungi seemed dim, and those close to the fissure were wrinkled and wilted. Corvid had Delilah stay back while he crept forward on his belly, scooting close to the edge and peering into the depths. Below, no more than twenty feet he reckoned, were tile floors and carved walls. The torches were mounted in sconces, revealing, if he turned his head at just the right angle, painted murals. It was too far to make out more than blobs of color and vague figures.

He felt the girl’s shoulder bump his as she ignored his warning and looked herself. She asked, in a hushed whisper, if it was a dungeon. Corvid could only shrug, “a temple, or crypt perhaps?” he suggested. “I have no way of knowing for certain.” He didn’t like the idea of torches lit this far below the earth. These were the red lamps of drow. This meant there were being occupying those halls, or those torches were kept alive by magical means.

Voices and bare footsteps hushed them. Delilah covered her mouth with her hands, as if terrified she’d involuntarily give them away.

Below they watched the voices become figures. Corvid recognized the creatures, with their stumpy limbs and long bodies: Ophidians. The larger, no less scaled beings were lizard folk, though Corvid had never seen any such as these. Their armed procession was followed by a line of slaves, or at least that’s what Corvid assumed. What else would humans, elves, dwarves, and two halflings be doing herded beneath the earth?

“We have to help them.” Delilah hissed into his ear.

That would be foolish. They had no way of knowing the number the lizard folk and ophidians had. Corvid had his magic, and his patron’s blade, but they could have their own spell slingers. There was too much risk. Ophidians usually meant vrael olo, which would class him as duthrael. So he shook his head to the girl’s dismay. He recognized the look as disappointment.

Only when they returned to their camp did she angrily lash out. He sat and listened while she called him craven, and a variety of colorful terms he hadn’t expected a young girl to know. Delilah then asked him: “what kind of hero allows slaves to remain in chains?”

“The kind who likes his hide intact.” He informed her.

Delilah spit in his face, and retreated to a far corner to sit with her back to him.


	4. Chapter 4

She fumed and pouted before rounding on him again. Corvid put a stop to it when she accused him of not being very heroic. “I never said I was, darling.” It was her who attributed that onto him. He’d just never corrected her, and it’d served him well enough until this point.  
  
Delilah scrunched up her face in anger. “You’re a _liar_ then.”  
  
“Yes, and a damned fine one at that." Because I have to be, he thought bitterly. His continued freedom was reliant on sweet words and lies. And not having companions long enough to catch me in one, he silently added, looking at the blotchy cheeked dwarf girl.   
  
Afterwards she refused to speak to him, though still cooked enough dinner for two. She thrust the bowl in his direction and returned to her corner to sulk in quiet anger. He’d half expected her to eat it all out of spite. Corvid had never experienced someone disappointed in him. Not truly. Losi had been patient with him, often explaining the correct emotional response to a situation and why it was considered “correct”. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel, it was that he never learned how to genuinely express himself. His tutors had placed much emphasis on masking true feelings when he was a child. Everything you do must be calculated: A laugh at the right joke, a smile at the right person. Your personal opinion on the situation matters not for you are vrael olo above all else. _Duthrael_ , he corrected himself. When he escaped, he was no longer one of the favored people.   
  
His training had also not extended beyond the human houses and elven dignitaries of Chult. If there were Yuan-ti in the area, he had no way of knowing what house they belonged to, and to what houses they were allied. The lower caste he may fool, but he was only a pureblood. Ophidians, and the tainted may be fooled, but lizardfolk were another matter entirely. Some were shockingly clever, and if Corvid lacked the mark of whatever master or house they served, they’d attack him on sight. He bore a thin scar above his left hip as a reminder of that. The spear had only barely missed hitting home. Pretty talk wouldn’t get you as far with scaly folk as it does with the scaleless.   
  
Still, he thought, they were taking slaves. For what he couldn’t guess, but they had enough foresight to keep their business below ground. What people don’t see they can’t attack. They can't be outraged. People go missing all the time, the inn keeper had said. It wasn’t the dragon or band of goblins, it seemed.   
  
Delilah snored in her corner, having curled up under her cloak. Her head rested on her pack. One of her tight braids had started to unravel. The coarse red hair stuck out in odd directions from the slackened plait.   
  
I’m not a hero, he told himself. I am…was a pirate. He snorted. A captain of a piece of shit that could barely be qualified as a ship. He’d seen the grand vessels anchored near the Nelanther. The old river junker he’d captained could be pulled right up to the docks. His crew never numbered beyond six, for the vessel couldn’t hold more than that. No, he thought, I’m a scavenger. Scavengers wait until something does the work for them, then reaps the benefits or run off with a few scraps.  
  
Corvid sat up. Scavengers wait until something does the work for them. He pulled the map from his pack and looked at the areas Jig had marked. A “man” camp was circled at the south western tip of the Serpent Hills. The goblin had mentioned steering clear of them because they were armed. That camp was only an hour’s walk from the ravine they took shelter in. If I lead them here, Delilah will be satisfied, and there will be a few less lizardfolk to deal with later.  
  
  
They packed up and squeezed their way out of the cavern. The air was cool, but heavy from the rain. It sent a chill straight through Corvid’s body despite the heavy coat. From the mouth of the ravine he altered course. If Delilah noticed the change, she made no comment. The girl hadn’t spoken a word to him since her tirade.   
  
There’s a difference between cowardice and simply not being a fool, he thought bitterly. His life came before all else. Not even a divine order could persuade him. His patron knew this. The old muck beast was satisfied so long as Corvid let his blade drink deep every so often. It preferred a sacrifice of bones, but he hadn’t been able to remain in one place long enough to perform the ritual.   
  
Slogging through the wet peat, Delilah was the first to spot the tendril of white smoke on the horizon. For a moment she forgot her anger and pointed it out as she rushed ahead to stand atop the small hill. She’d learned her lesson with the goblins, staying low while keeping Corvid within sight. He squinted against the wet grasses glittering in the morning light, glad she could withstand the brightness. When he reached her side, he lifted her up onto his shoulders. For a moment he regretted doing so. The girl, despite her short stature was far heavier than she looked. His legs shook as he let her borrow the spyglass from his pack.   
  
“It’s a camp.” She said, and described the two people. A heavily armored individual with a fancy helmet, another she couldn’t quite make out leaning against a halberd. "Or maybe a glaive? I can't tell." With the sun still in the east, it wasn’t long before she announced one of them was pointing in their direction.  
  
He let her down. Once her feet touched the ground, she seemed to remember her grudge. Wordlessly she put the spyglass in his hand and turned her head away. She still hadn’t fixed that braid. One side of her hair had completely come free, and stood out in puffs of ginger candy floss.  
  
Delilah had been correct in her first assumption. The halberd wielding individual reached them first. Heavy armor made moving across wet ground slow, so their companion hung back, with a vicious looking hammer at the ready. It was a woman, tall, and broad shouldered. She had skin not unlike those native to Chult, but her features were alien to him; Her nose too long, her black hair board straight and shiny. She hailed them in a strange accent, keeping Corvid and Delilah within reach of her weapon. When the wind ruffled her thick hair, he caught a glimpse of bluntly pointed ears. A half-elf.   
  
Corvid held out his hands, palms up and fingers spread wide to show he meant no harm. The naga sinew was still wound around his wrist and fingers, but by all appearances it seemed ornamental. He doubted she could detect anything out of the ordinary from it, though he didn’t trust her armored companion. Some warriors were specifically trained to detect such things. Particularly those who made a regular habit of treasure hunting.  
  
To put Delilah at ease he explained their situation, what they saw in the cave. “I could not put this child at risk, and it’d have been a fool’s errand to take up that task alone.” He felt the girl’s eyes on him as he watched the half-elf’s expression. He picked out the micro movements, how her brows and eye muscles gave way her opinion despite her stony expression. This had been the news she’d been looking for. Corvid hoped she’d let them leave in thanks, but in stead, she motioned with her halberd towards the camp. She needed more information.   
  
True to form, Delilah had questions for the armed woman. She kept her occupied, for her short answers were not what the girl was looking for, especially where that halberd was concerned. “It’s folded steel, that’s obvious, but those discolorations mark it as enchanted.” She said, and the woman confirmed as much. Corvid caught a brief flicker of surprised respect in the woman’s expression.  
  
When they reached the camp, they both saw what they mistook for a helmet, was, in fact, the armored one’s face. The long snout, curved horns, and hard bronze scales were easily mistaken at a distance. The dragonborn, whom the woman called “Anton” lowered his hammer and leaned it against a boulder. Their camp was protected on three sides by the stones. It was just by luck they’d been able to spot the smoke, or he suspected they may have walked right past it.  
  
The woman had him relay his information once again, and Corvid was quick to notice how the dragonborn scrutinized him. It was the half-elf who gave him away. Standing next to him, watching as he told Anton what they witnessed, the wind tugged his scarf loose. He’d forgotten to put his hair down after leaving the cave, as it was still damp. Her shout caught him off guard and he didn't have the chance to cross into the Ethereal Plane to put some distance between them. No, it was apparent they were used to dealing with those more attuned to the arcane, for the stunning blow to his neck left him unable to form words for a good handful of moments.  
  
Much to Delilah’s protest, Corvid found himself bound and the subject of interrogation. It didn’t seem to matter how little he knew of the Yuan-ti in the region, or even the region itself. The girl tried her best to back him up.   
  
“Why in all the nine hells would I come to you with this information?”  
  
“See? He’s too stupid to be a double agent.” Delilah said.  
  
Taken by surprised, he couldn’t mask the glare he shot at her.  
  
They were left with a dilemma. Delilah. The dragonborn wanted to tie Corvid up and let fate decide what’d happen to him, as he didn’t feel comfortable killing him on the spot. "Roche, he hasn't done anything untoward..." However, the half-elf argued they couldn’t take the girl with them, but she didn’t like leaving Delilah alone with a Yuan-ti.  
  
“I’ve been alone with him this whole time,” Delilah said from her spot by the fire.   
  
“She has a point, Anton.” Roche sighed.   
  
Anton snorted and flared his fins. “I don’t like this.” He turned towards Corvid and bent down to look him in the eye. There was a new sense of divine authority in his voice when he asked: “Where are you taking her? What’s your actual business here?”  
  
“I’m running from someone.”  
  
This seemed to take Anton aback. As if he hadn’t expected such a blunt, truthful answer without some resistance. “Running from what?” He asked, and Corvid was glad the shock kept him from pressing the subject of his destination.   
  
“Someone who feels I owe them an undeserved sum. There's a reason I can recognize a slave when I see one, Saer.”  
  
The debate turned back to what to do with Delilah, without asking the girl what she wanted for herself. Anton's sense of honor was the barrier between Roche's desire to leave the two of them here. Corvid, bored, had taken to looking at his surroundings. He watched several figures appear over the crest of the hill. He squinted and caught the glint of a spear tip. The familiar short figure of a goblin crept down the side of the hill, followed by several more. Damn it all, he thought, but an idea began to form. If the adventurers were distracted, he could make off with the girl and leave knowing the two would inevitably venture down to the cave.   
  
“I’m sure we would all like to sit and argue until the sun sets, but it seems goblins do not wait.”  
  
His words had the desired effect. Roche bade Delilah to remain put, and gave him a warning glance before hefting the halberd and following her companion’s charge. The dragonborn’s armor slowed him, but his strength pushed him through the muck with all the grace of a drunk bull.   
  
As soon as the two were fending off spears and arrows, Corvid began to work his wrists back and forth, loosening the skin until the rope helped break the papery surface. He slipped free and began to work the knot around his ankles before Delilah realized what he’d done. He half expected her to gasp and shout to her new heroes, but to his surprise, she came over to help him. She glanced behind her and frowned, “do you think those are Garak’s goblins?”  
  
“I cannot tell from this distance, and I do not wish to get close enough to find out, unless you think your new friends will stay their hand long enough for you to inspect them.”

  
She wrinkled her nose and pulled his wrist harder than needed as he made to stand. He sighed, “if they are, I am sure they can handle themselves. They seemed smarter than others I’ve met.”  
  
Corvid lead her at a crouch, after they retrieved their bags. While Delilah was busy gathering her things, Corvid slipped a few of Roche and Anton’s pouches into his pockets. One was fat, heavy, and jingled nicely. The other felt as if it were stuffed with powder. Spices perhaps, for neither looked as if they required spell components.   
  
“You’re good at that.” Delilah said after they’d put enough distance between themselves and the camp.   
  
He looked at her in question until she clarified about the ropes. “That was gross, but clever. Can I see?”  
  
Before he had a chance to answer, she grabbed his wrist as they walked, examining the line where the freshly shed skin met the old. He felt her dirty fingernail scratch at the dried skin that flaked around the edge. “Did it hurt?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Corvid? ( _Yes_?) Would you have left me if they’d taken me with them?”  
  
He hesitated. The answer should be an unquestionable “yes”, but as the moors stretched ahead, rolling into steeper mounds that would take them into the Serpent Hills, he realized the trek would be lonely without her. In stead he shrugged, “I need someone to keep me company.”


	5. Chapter 5

Corvid slept soundly and awoke hours later disoriented. His calves were sore, and his joints stiff. The thin padding on his bedroll did nothing to cushion the unforgiving stone floor, but it did keep the damp away. With a wince he rolled onto his stomach, and looked at the small white mushrooms growing in the corner of the alcove. The pale blue glow beneath the caps pulsed in time with an unknowable rhythm.  
  
Garak and what was left of his goblins had met them in the mountains. It seems the two adventurers were more formidable than expected. The bugbear had lost a good number of his crew. More than he wished to admit. Despite this, he'd been in good humor.   
  
A goblin who called herself Pigsticker found the cave, while gathering kindling to ward off the rapidly cooling air. Snow had begun to fall in fat flakes, clinging to hair, shoulders, and fir needles. Corvid had bundled up as close to the fire as possible without risking setting his clothes alight. As reluctant as he should’ve been at the prospect of being discovered by scouts, or perhaps worse foes in the deeper caverns, he agreed to the suggestion without second thought.  
  
They took up the main passage and two crystal filled alcoves. Delilah inspected the glittering crystals and explained to her curious goblin companions that they were worthless. Some merchants requested them, she explained, because they could be easily altered to look enchanted. “You have to sell them quick, because they don’t hold the spell long. Clear quartz never does.”  
  
The area was defensible. The entrance was nothing more than a crack in the wall, barely large enough for Garak to squeeze himself through. The bugbear’d had to remove his armor and suck in his gut. Even still, he had to call for help. Two goblins still outside with Delilah pushed, while Corvid and the rest had grabbed his extended arm and tugged.   
  
Beyond the second alcove the passage branched off in opposite directions. To the north, it narrowed until even a goblin couldn’t squeeze through. To the east a small, clear stream ran alongside the path. The water was frigid, but drinkable. Garak ordered a guard be posted at the entrance and the junction.   
  
Delilah’d volunteered to take watch, only to have her excitement crushed when Garak gently told her she was too young. "Young'uns need sleep to grow." He'd explained. She went to the first alcove to sulk, after muttering: "but I'm a dwarf." She'd fallen asleep by the time Corvid had gone to check on her before retiring. He’d covered her in a blanket and removed her sword belt so she wouldn’t roll onto the hilt.   
  
Corvid stretched and sat up. Beside him the bugbear snored, undisturbed by his movement.   
  
When he’d gone to retire after eating a bowl of over salted beans and mushrooms the night before, Garak followed. Barely had he stepped into the private alcove when the bugbear’s claws encircled his waist. He felt Garak’s cock, already half stiff, pressed against his hip.   
  
Nothing stirred in Corvid. His legs were throbbing from the difficult climb earlier, as he’d attempted to keep pace with Delilah. Rest was all he desired.   
  
“Lovely spot, eh? Might nicer than that camp.”  
  
“Dryer at least.”  
  
“Romance not your forte, Snake?”  
  
“I wasn’t aware romance was part of the arrangement.”  
  
“Oh, you wound me. Do you mean to say that wonderful night meant not a thing to you?”  
  
Under normal circumstances, Corvid’d answer in whatever manner would benefit him in the long run. He’d’ve played along until they both got all they desired from one another, but all he desired was sleep. So he answered truthfully: “I don’t know.”  
  
Garak had let him be after that, initially giving Corvid space. When he’d laid down, sleep evaded him. Conflicted emotions and memories swirled in his mind. He’d felt something akin to romance before, certainly not love, but an intimate fondness. His love had been reserved for his surrogate father, Losi, and to a lesser extent, the crew that’d helped raise him.

  
His thoughts were in the jungles of Chult, winding down the river Shosenstar to the Aldani Basin. Before Kwayothé had caught up to him, he’d spent nearly two years with the company of another. The firbolg was an exotic sight, and had caught Corvid’s eye immediately one evening in Port Nyanzaru. Corvid had donned his enchanted ring to mask his appearance. It allowed him to walk freely in the city to meet with some potential treasure buyers. He and his crew’d hit an adventuring party as they’d emerged from the ruins of a Shagambi temple a month earlier.   
  
Wakanga had a special interest in magical items, and Corvid’d come into possession of several along with the journal the wizard had kept. In it contained some interesting passages referencing some mysterious thing called “Vorn”. The merchant prince had been more than happy to take it off his hands.   
  
With a pouch full of platinum, he’d approached the large fellow at a dumpling vendor. The tall firbolg agreed to a night at the Thundering Lizard with a lazy smile and a slow drawl. Afterwards, to Corvid’s surprise, he accepted his offer of a position on his ship. He’d introduced himself as being last called “Longshanks”, an apt name as Corvid’s eyes were in line with his navel.  
  
They never progressed further than casual sex and companionship. He’d never been able to voice his feelings properly. Still, he was happy with their arrangement. Longshanks proved himself loyal, dependable, and even tempered. He never argued over the captain’s take, as it was far less than what Jobal required of the guides and mercenaries employed under him.   
  
The memory squeezed at his heart, and he rolled onto his side to face the wall, hoping to move away from it. In stead it chased him. The deep slate skin, and auburn hair so dark it appeared black. He missed Longshanks. No, he thought, I miss his cock. As big around and nearly as long as Corvid’s forearm; that cock would open him up and leave his limbs weak as jelly. What he missed most was the sensation of Longshanks sliding three gull sized, opal eggs into him, and then fucking his cunt.   
  
After forming a tenuous alliance with an adventuring party, Longshanks sold him out to Kwayothé. To the firbolg, his bounty was worth more than what potentially lurked in an old trap filled temple. Discovery, adventure, and mystery didn’t interest his first-mate as it did him. No, what interested Longshanks, was gold.   
  
What stung the most was that the firbolg’d never looked back. His last memory of Longshanks was him hefting the chest of eight-hundred platinum with a grunt, and walking up the stairs. It’d been business as usual. All he'd been was a payout.  
  
In that moment he’d wished the manacles that had bound him weren’t enchanted. He’d’ve shed his skin and fed Longshank’s blood and bones to his patron. He’d wanted to scream, cry, and curse him, but kept his face devoid of emotion. All of it was willed down, balled up and swallowed. The energy needed to be saved for later use. For the torture he knew awaited him at the clever, vindictive hands of Kwayothé.

  
  
Corvid stood up and wrapped himself in his coat to seek out some breakfast. The main passage was alive with the commotion of goblins. His nose was greeted with the scent of burnt blood sausage, fried cave fish, and something overwhelmingly sweet. Before he could seek out an open place to sit down, a plate was brought to him. The goblin carried the tray high above his head as he wound his way through the crowd. He smiled and told him that Delilah’d sat up for final watch with him. “She’s a sweet girl for a dwarf.”  
  
He agreed, and took a bite of the sausage. It had the consistency and flavor of spiced charcoal. In lieu of sitting, he decided it would be easier to stand where he was. The cave fish were alright, though under seasoned. The blackened cakes, however, were another thing entirely. He’d initially suspected they’d been burnt, but upon biting into one, found the dark crust was sweet and crisp. He had to quickly catch the honey that dripped from the center, and began to run down the side of his hand.   
  
Once his plate was clean, he sought out the cook. An older goblin next to the cook fire introduce herself as Kippers. “It’s not my real name,” she explained, “I just been called that so long, my name don’t sound right anymore.”   
  
The recipe was a bastardization of some cakes they’d pilfered from a wood elf. Kippers explained that it wasn’t even close to what she’d intended to recreate, but everyone seemed to like it. Corvid agreed, and was given two more for the compliment. Despite knowing the extra sweets would make him nauseated, he ate them anyway.  
  
When Garak was roused, Corvid went to him and asked if he intended on following them. Corvid had no plan beyond satiating his curiosity, but it didn’t include a bugbear and a small retinue of goblins. He wanted to get in and get out unseen. Delilah alone complicated matters with her heroic ideals, with a small goblinoid squadron, she’d be emboldened to act on them.   
  
With a shake of his head, Garak said no. “I’ll leave the Snakes and Lizards to you.” Garak then pointed at Corvid with a sausage speared on the tip of his knife, “do you have a plan to get the girl out, in case things go sideways?”  
  
He didn’t, but nodded.  
  
Delilah suggested they explore the tunnels when Corvid peeked out the entrance only to see the ground coated in a thick layer of snow. The flakes didn’t appear as if they’d be stopping anytime soon. Dark, winding tunnels filled with unknown flora and fauna sounded downright pleasant. She grinned when he nodded in agreement.   
  
She’d grown up on stories of these mountains and the tunnels within. He listened for a while as she told him about what her parents would bring home, the type of fungi she most looked forward to. “Sometimes,” she said, “they’d bring back candy from the elves who used to live nearby.”  
  
The path narrowed until they were forced to carefully inch their way on the tips of their toes. The stream below was deeper than it appeared. Earlier, Corvid’d confirmed his suspicion by conjuring his pact blade as a long handled glaive. The bone tip found only open flowing water without a bottom in sight. Afterwards, Delilah kept one hand on his coat, her fist tightly wound in the leather.   
  
Soon, to their collective relief, the path widened again. The darkness gave way to soft blue and violet bioluminescence as the fungal growth thickened. “Don’t touch any of those,” Delilah said as they walked between the mushrooms. “The spores are poison.”  
  
Poison wasn’t something he had to worry about, but heeded her regardless. Disturbances left a path, and he wanted to prevent anything patrolling these tunnels from tracing them back to the camp. And he suspected there were patrols, though he said nothing to his companion for fear of frightening her. People going missing, and scattered sightings of lizardfolk meant something was going on. The slaves they saw were proof enough. Corvid just wondered exactly how wide their territory had extended. The Serpent Hills were supposedly controlled by the dragons, though he’d not seen or smelled no sign of them.   
  
Their path suddenly ended in a sheer drop. Delilah helped him secure the rope, and he ordered her to climb first in case the piton didn’t hold. When she signaled that she’d reached the bottom, he began his descent, slowly, carefully. Corvid didn’t particularly like heights, and focused on the stone wall in front of him. His knuckles were pale as he gripped the rope, and his breathing felt shallow. One hand under the other, the rhythmic movement kept his mind from wondering to the empty space below, where Delilah waited.   
  
He didn’t hear the metallic snap in time before his stomach leapt into his throat as he plummeted. There was no time to shout before the wind was knocked from his lungs as he met the ground. Corvid lay there, stunned for a moment, before he gasped. Pain shot through his limbs, and Delilah immediately began checking him out for any major injuries. Luckily, she told him, the fall was no more than ten feet.   
  
With some help, he was able to sit up. Everything from his tailbone to his crown hurt. His finger tips and toes felt tingly. He flexed them while Delilah went through their packs. “I don’t have any potions, but there’s still some of that powder for headaches.”   
  
He shook his head and winced. “I’ll be fine, darling. Just give me a moment.”  
  
She squatted beside him and checked his eyes. With a frown, she sighed, “your weird eyes make it hard to tell if you have brain damage. It's like you got different eyes behind your eyes.”  
  
Corvid spoke a few slurred words in his native tongue, then couldn’t contain the laughter at her alarmed expression. She gave his shoulder a light punch then drew back with a “sorry, sorry” when he sucked in a sharp breath.   
  
It took him longer than expected to get his feet back beneath him. The cavern spun as he stood, and forced him to lean heavily against the damp wall. The chill helped dull the pain in his backside and skull, but did nothing to aid his mobility. For a moment the honey cakes and cave fish threatened to come back up. He tasted them on his tongue before willing the urge down.   
  
Delilah looked up to the passage above, “I can try to climb back up and get help.”  
  
He waved the idea away, “let’s get moving.” He said, and told her that warming up would help him more than sitting on the cold floor. And it did, in a way, warmth was a double edged sword. His limbs loosened, and the dizziness faded, but the pain radiated from his spine and along the backs of his limbs.   
  
Ahead a dim light cast an orange glow at a bend in the tunnel. As they crept forward, the passage opened into a small central chamber with three branching paths. Two torches, each with a pale magical flame were secured to the walls. Corvid grabbed the back of Delilah’s britches before she could step into the light.   
  
“I want to see which one is used the most,” she whispered, pulling free from his grasp. He held his breath as she crept forward. He could expend some energy to grasp her back, but didn’t want to risk it. That energy needed to be conserved for whatever maintained those torch flames.  
  
The breath released in a sigh of relief when she turned back, pointing down the leftmost passage. As Delilah began to creep back towards him, a bolt pinged off the stone a few inches above her head. She hurried back towards him on her hands and feet.  
  
Pushing her behind him, he carefully backed down the passage into the shadows. He pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. The girl nodded and rested her hand on the hilt of her blade.   
  
It became a waiting game. Corvid strained to listen while Delilah dropped to her belly and placed her ear to the ground. He glanced down long enough to see her brows furrowed in concentration. She lifted four stubby fingers.   
  
His fingers sought the comforting sinew wrapped around his wrist. Four somethings that knew they were there. As much as he hated expending the energy, he wished to draw them out into the open. If he could see them, he could hit them. Corvid shut his eyes and focused on the form of Delilah. She was small enough that it wouldn’t be too much effort to recreate her likeness.   
  
The silent figure crept back into the open, little bow at the ready, with an arrow between her fingers. As another bolt whizzed through the illusion, he manipulated the mock Delilah to clutch her neck and soon after, collapse.   
  
As he guessed, a scaled figure moved out of the tunnel. The lizardfolk bent over the figure, and as it reached down, it’s claws grasped at nothing. Corvid dropped the illusion and clenched his fist. The sinew took the place of the bone and silk as he whispered the incantation. Ribbons of inky blackness only he could see encircled the reptilian head, sinking into it’s eyes, nostrils, and ear openings. It collapsed where the illusory Delilah once was.   
  
A shout of alarm came from the left passage. Too slow. The true Delilah, a little paler now, unsheathed her shortsword. She stood at the ready as Corvid waited for the spell to finish taking effect. As the steps came closer, the lizardfolk’s corpse shuddered and rose on stiff legs. He put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, squeezing to hopefully convey that they must remain hidden.   
  
The moment it’s companion came into view, the newly risen lizardfolk lashed out at it. Using the distraction, Corvid sent a searing bolt of eldritch flame at the still living lizardfolk. It’s body fell under the zombified body that descended upon it to feast.   
  
Delilah had drawn her short bow in time to fire a shot at the ophidian who came to aid the fallen lizardfolk. It went wide and clattered against the stone wall behind it. Corvid swore under his breath when it’s large red eyes followed the trajectory. It slashed at the undead lizardfolk and called for the still unseen fourth that Delilah had heard. He understood enough of their dialect to know it was indicating exactly where they were.  
  
Battle in close quarters was not something he relished. Not with the damp and cold making him slow. Adrenaline would only do so much more him. He turned to Delilah and told her not to be frightened.   
  
Her “what” faded as he concentrated on changing his body. All vrael could muster the will to alter their shape, though growing up he’d been warned those who became duthrael in the eyes of their god would lose that divine connection. He’d managed that form twice since escaping the palace. It had never been an easy transformation, nor was it now.   
  
Sight and sound became muffled as his body stretched itself into a new shape, then came roaring back. Delilah backed against the wall and he looked down at her. She seemed so small. So edible. He shook the thought away and focused on the commotion ahead. As he slithered into view, the sight of the giant constrictor gave the lizardfolk and ophidian pause. Blades lowered by a fraction and he took the opportunity to strike. What Corvid lacked in venom, he made up for in size and strength.  
  
The little fellow wasn’t quick enough, or perhaps wasn’t smart enough to avoid his jaws. The ophidian broke with a wet gurgle. As he began to swallow the little creature, a searing pain tore into his coils. He’d’ve screamed if he had the capacity. Mouth stretched around his prey, he swiveled his had to see the lizardfolk stiffen and fall against him. Delilah stood behind it, her blade bloodied and quivering in her shaking hands.   
  
He finished working the ophidian down, and below Delilah vomited. He would need to rest while it digested. Following Delilah, they went back to the tunnel they’d initially come from. She kept her distance, and he caught her eyeing the bulge of the ophidian.   
  
Corvid didn’t need her coming down with a fever from the damp chill. To her initial protest, he slithered beside her, and looped himself in a way to make her a scaly bed. He could feel the girl's heart pounding at first, and tasted the bitter tang of fear in the air around her. If he could, he’d’ve reassured her. In this form they were less likely to be seen. A patrol passing through would simply think she was a meal, wrapped up for later, or perhaps a favored servant.   
  
The warmth contained within his coils seemed to finally put her at ease, or at least lulled her into a tired slumber. Corvid felt a bone deep exhaustion, and let himself fall into an uneasy rest.

  
  
The girl still slept soundly when Corvid broke his trance. The membranes over his eyes slid back and he tasted the air for any signs of activity. There was many something living down the left most tunnel. As much as he regretted disturbing her, Corvid lowered her to the floor so he could change back. The process was slower, and he couldn’t stop shivering.  
  
Before dressing, he looked beneath his breast to inspect the new wound between his ribs. The scabbed over slash stood out in the patch of muddy scales that dotted his side. As he was pulling the much needed coat on, beside him, Delilah rubbed her eyes and stretched. “You’re back.”  
  
“Never left, darling.

  
Delilah motioned for him to come forward. The tunnel took a sharp turn and ended in a barred door. Corvid could make out several figures within, and as he crept closer, realized they were neither lizardfolk nor vrael. The smell gave it away. Unwashed bodies, stale food, vomit, and a seldom cleared latrine. It caused his eyes to water. He pulled his scarf over his nose only to be elbowed by the girl. “That’s rude.”  
  
“It’s practical.” His hissed back and fished the key ring taken from one of the corpses out of his pocket. Three attempts later and the door was open, though the inhabitants didn’t immediately rush towards freedom. Corvid understood why, despite the ring which granted him some degree of disguise, it wasn’t powerful enough to conceal all of his serpentine features. The eyes typically gave it away to those who could tell the difference between dragonkin and serpentfolk, or those more perceptive of the arcane. These people had spent enough time in the company of vrael olo to know one when they saw them.  
  
Delilah, bless her, stepped forward and announced they were here to recuse them. Most glances in his direction were those of suspicion. Then a large figure stood up, his horns scraped against the low stone ceiling. Corvid’s mouth went dry when he took in the biceps that were nearly as big around as his thigh. “He’s not one of them.” The tiefling said to the others, and explained in brief that no yuan-ti would lower themselves to work alongside a dwarf. Though the suspicion never left their eyes, this declaration broke the stillness, and they moved to the door.  
  
Delilah pointed them towards the tunnel that led up to the goblin camp. As much as Corvid would like to continue their exploration, in the opposite direction, he announced they would accompany them to ensure their safety. This, he knew, would greatly please the girl. Judging by the smile he caught out of his periphery, he was correct. It would also grant them some degree of protection if they were set upon by a patrol, who would be more concerned over the escaped slaves than the two of them.  
  
The large tiefling opted to go up the wall last when Delilah scaled it to re-secure the rope. Reluctant to make the climb again, Corvid lingered as the four other prisoners made the ascent. A large, thick fingered hand came down on his shoulder, “your turn,” the tiefling said and nudged him forward. As his hands gripped the rope, Corvid looked up to see the ledge stretching high above. His back still ached from the fall, and the prospect of another accident made his stomach churn with anxiety.   
  
Suddenly he felt two hands grip his waist and lift him. “I’ll be right down here to catch you. Now up you go, hero.”  
  
“Corvid,” he said in a weak voice as he used the leverage to begin his climb. The word hero didn’t settle well in his mind. It felt as if someone were trying to force a puzzle piece in a place it didn’t belong.  
  
“Funny name for someone who’s afraid of heights.”  
  
He ignored the friendly jab to avoid looking down. At least the knowledge that someone was below kept his hands steady enough to pull himself up the final five feet of sheer stone. As he crawled over the edge, his heart pounding, Delilah crouched beside him: “I’m going to start leading them to the camp, there isn’t enough room on this ledge for everyone to wait around.”  
  
He waved her on as he rolled onto his back and let out a shuddering breath. They’d have to go back down later, and he dreaded the prospect. Corvid clambered to his hands and knees to move out of the way when the rope went taut next to him. Below he heard the scrape of claws against stone as the tiefling’s taloned feet gripped the rock. Soon enough he joined Corvid, hardly out of breath though a light sheen of sweat glittered on his deep merlot brow. As he stood, he offered a hand to Corvid, who gladly took it. The touch made him flush along the back of his neck as he was pulled upright. “Lead the way, Corvid.”  
  
As they inched their way along the narrow path, Corvid turned to ask what he should call the tiefling. “Craven.” Came the response. “My parents thought it would serve me well to have a name to not live up to.”  
  
“Has it?”  
  
“More or less, though given my current situation, less seems to be more apt. And you, little crow, how is it you came to party up with a dwarf child to rescue prisoners of your own people?”  
  
“I haven’t served a House for two decades, they are as much my people as they are your’s. As for my choice in companions, that was an accident.”  
  
“One you regret?”  
  
“Less with each day.”  
  
They emerged into the large cavern, greeted by the two goblins on watch duty. One stepped forward to inform them that “Boss is looking for you.”   
  
Craven followed him as he wove through the goblins and prisoners to the small alcove. There the bugbear sat discussing what to do with the extra mouths to feed with the cook. “If you think you can handle it, and spare the food, by all means.” Garak said.  
  
“I’ve handled a troupe and a half of children. And you could do with fewer helpings yourself, Boss.” Kippers told him and as she left, elbowed Corvid in the thigh. “Good luck, Snake.”

  
  
“So,” the bugbear said once she’d gone out of earshot. “Looks like you found some lizards and some slaves. Slaves whose disappearance won’t go unnoticed, I’d reckon.”  
  
Before he could open his mouth, Craven stepped forward. “Slaves who would be more than willing to stand in the way of any oncoming attack. With proper armaments, of course.” He inclined his horned head, and glanced at Corvid. “There aren’t many reinforcements within the tunnels. They’re overconfident, and it will take time for word to reach the city.”  
  
“What city?”   
  
“Najara. Well, a subterranean reflection, but Najara nonetheless. No I haven’t seen it, but the guards would talk around us as if we are simple cattle, forgetting that some beasts are a little more learned than others.”  
  
A sinking feeling hit Corvid’s gut. A Serpent King required a kingdom. This was more dangerous than he anticipated, and he’d started something he didn’t wish to start. All he’d wanted to do was slake his curiosity concerning this King in the mountains. The overwhelming desire to run washed over him. He wished to leave, and soon. The Fallen Star Sea would be a good start. It was land locked, but massive. Kwayothé’s assassins would have a tougher time finding him on the water. He could join a crew, lay low for a while. Perhaps worm his way to the comfortable position of bosun or quartermaster.   
  
Garak called his name a second time and Corvid blinked, “sorry?”  
  
“Do you agree?”  
  
“Yes, of course.” He responded without knowing what was being asked.  
  
“Fine. Get this bull a sword, and get going.”  
  
The bull, as Corvid found out, preferred hammers. The bugbear allowed it, as the weapon was one of his and rarely used. It swung too slow and left him open. “If he wants it, he can take it.” None of his goblins could wield the thing, not alone anyway.   
  
Before Corvid left the alcove to follow Craven, Garak grabbed his coat sleeve. “We could leave now, you know? Take to the forest, or go back to the Moors, and be done with this business.”  
  
We could, he thought. I could leave now as I always have. Delilah would despise him for it, and perhaps she would eventually get over the disappointment. As tempting as it was, running away hadn’t worked out for him since he'd fled the jungle. And, he thought morbidly, what assassin would think to find him down here? He’d have to be foolish or suicidal to willingly venture into a vrael olo controlled region. Corvid wasn’t suicidal by any means, but perhaps he was a fool, for only a fool would be caught up in this whole mess. “You could, yes. I’m going with Craven.”  
  
“And the child? Does she know what kind of danger waits for her down there?”  
  
“I’m sure she considered it when she decided to follow me.”  
  
Garak regarded him with an expression he could only read as resignation. Finally the hand released him, “go then. My crew leaves the moment the snow lets up, whether you’ve returned or not.”  
  
“Very well. Safe travels, Garak, and thank you.“  
  
“No. Thanks aren’t necessary, Snake. Just,” he hesitated, “don’t go and get yourself killed down there.”  
  
  
Delilah was waiting for them, her pack secured, and the sword hanging from her belt. Corvid stopped to refill his food supply, and the reflection he caught in the pot’s dinged surface startled him. He hardly recognized himself: His face was smudged; his patchy beard made him look gaunt as it crept up his cheeks; he hadn’t twisted the ends of his mustache in over a week, and only one side was still marginally upturned, while the other drooped over his lips. By Ubtao, I’m hideous, he thought. He glanced at the plain silver ring on his finger, inconspicuous among the gold and faceted jewels adoring the others. Hiding his features from vrael olo would only hinder them, ugly or not. There would be a greater chance of hesitation if they saw his true face. So he twisted the ring off and slipped it into an inner pocket.  
  
When the girl saw him her eyes went wide, “what happened to your skin? You’re so… _green_.”  
  
Flushing slightly, and unable to conceal it, he explained that to avoid any prejudices in smaller towns he had to mask his more obvious serpentine features. Being mistaken as having a little dragon blood was easier than attempting to assure someone you were no longer bound to a House. Given the history of the vrael olo, many were justified in their reactions, but it still made him uneasy to be around fearful people. Delilah, however, only seemed fascinated in the patch of muddy green scales she could see more clearly along the sides of his neck. The ring had made them faint, and damn near impossible to see when his hair was down. Now they stood out in bold patches down the back and sides of his neck. The girl asked if he had more and he nodded. “Where you need not see, darling.”

  
  
He scratched at his elbow as he followed Delilah; very aware of Craven at his back. The transformation reminded him that it’d been a long time since he’d exfoliated and had a proper shed. He chanced a glance behind him and the tiefling smiled, flashing an over large set of front teeth. It faltered, and he closed his lips. Strange, thought Corvid, the reaction wasn’t directed at him. No, that response was one of insecurity. He tucked away that information to pick apart later.   
  
At the ledge, Corvid hesitated once more. After Delilah lowered herself, Craven bent down to suggest he go down first, to be at the bottom, “in case you need someone to catch you.” Corvid glanced up and met those fiery orange eyes, and found it difficult to look away. He agreed, if only for the fact that he didn’t want to end up on his back again with the air punched from his lungs. Certainly not because the tiefling had large hands and strong arms. Certainly not to relish in the sensation of those hands on his waist as he eased him to the floor once he was within reach.  
  
Delilah lead them to Craven’s protest. “She’s a child,” he said in a hushed tone near Corvid’s ear.   
  
“And a very determined one. If you wish to hold her back, by all means, her ire is your's to bear.”  
  
At the junction, Craven pointed them down the opposite path. He explained the slaves were brought it from the western tunnel and kept there until they were processed. “To keep the smell away from the civilized folks,” he said with a hint of bitterness betraying the casual tone.   
  
The tunnel widened, artificially so, Delilah told them. Her small hand touched the smooth walls, and she furrowed her brows, “do you see these?” she pointed to long marks in the stone. “I’ve never seen marks like this. Corvid, ( _Mm?_ ), what kind of tools do your people use to excavate?”  
  
“I’m not sure, right off. I imagine whatever tools any other peoples use, or magic, perhaps.” When she looked at him, he spread his hands in apology, “I grew up in a temple, darling. Until my 14th year, I never saw the world beyond a courtyard.”  
  
Unable to gather more information, the girl sighed and lead onward. Her pace slowed and she paused to press her ear to the stone often. The tunnel had opened significantly now, and Corvid felt as if he were walking through some great hall with bioluminescent fungi serving as chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. The walls, he noted, had been cleared of any growth. Stalagmites had been removed, as Delilah pointed to the only remnants of them being small divots and bumps.    
  
She paused before a crack in the wall, the imperfection standing out like an ugly wound. “Wait here,” she ordered, and without waiting for any protest, vanished through the opening. Craven liked this no more than Corvid, and the two stood watch. Often, the tiefling would lean close to the opening to listen for anything beyond the scuffling sound of leather boots against rock. He hated being in the open like this. Other than the crevice Delilah had vanished through, there were no places to hide. None, at least, on the floor. He glanced up at the soft violet and blue glow speckling the ceiling. The stalactites had not been cleared. He could get to them, but that would leave Craven in the open. The tiefling could handle himself, he thought, though it did not reassure him.   
  
When a small voice whispered from the wall, he turned to see the girl waving them inside. “You have to come see this. I think I found something.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Come on.”  
  
Corvid slipped into the wall, and Craven managed to just barely squeeze himself through the crack. It was a tight fit, and behind him the tiefling struggled. His breath wheezed and huffed as he side stepped through the tunnel. Corvid could barely turn around, but was able to give Craven a hand to help him wriggle through some tighter spots. Soon, to his and Craven’s relief, the tunnel exited onto a ledge.   
  
That relief, however, was short-lived. Delilah had found something alright. Ahead, Corvid saw the twisting spire of a temple. As he stepped forward, the temple gave way to a sprawling city as large as Daggerford, at least. The architecture was the all too familiar elegant, and minimalist vrael olo design. Even from their vantage point he could see the serpentine influence on the temple’s main tower. The crown of it resembling a snake’s head, and in it’s mouth an orb which served as an artificial sun.   
  
Delilah’s hand tugged at his sleeve, drawing his eyes from the great city to see her round, dirty face. “Is this what you were looking for?”  
  
“Yes. You’ve found Najara.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Corvid closed his eyes and took a breath. The air was thick and cloying. The poison gas filled his lungs, though it stung his eyes and made his skin prickle, it was harmless. He squinted through the putrid haze as it swirled around the chamber. The motionless forms of Roche and Anton lay nearby. The two adventurers had take the brunt of the toxic blast. What had worry settling in his gut and gripping his heart was Craven. He couldn’t find the tiefling, and had lost sight of him in the melee.   
  
They’d nearly gotten out unnoticed, had Anton and Roche not decided to begin lining their pockets with treasure. The dais at the center of the temple’s grand hall was piled high with coin, gems, and fine wooden sculptures. However, Corvid noticed, intermingling with the glittering wealth were bones. The room had stank of death and vegetation, with a faint hint of something bitter.   
  
He whispered his suspicion to Craven, who agreed that something was amiss. The tiefling pointed out the walls above. The murals had been damaged, and a distinctive line ran along the walls. It seemed someone had torn an upper floor away, leaving behind long gouges similar to those they’d seen in the tunnels. Corvid’s eye followed a crimson serpent up. It’s body split by pale, rocky scars, to the open balcony above. They’d seen the balcony from the cover of the fungal forest, and had debated using it as a point of entry had their plan of subterfuge not been viable. He frowned as something glittered from within a crack in the stone.   
  
Craven, keeping an eye on the dark hallway just off the main hall, summoned a disk. He was able to lift Corvid to level with the item. Using his dagger, he pried the thing loose, and held it in the flat of his palm while being lowered back to the floor. The emerald scale glimmered in the artificial moonlight filtering from the balcony. It was larger than a naga scale, with pronounced ridges. When he tapped a fingernail against it, it seemed as tough as armor.  
  
He felt Craven’s heat against his shoulder as the tiefling leaned down to look. “Shit,” he muttered.   
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s a dragon scale.” He motioned for Anton and Roche, but they paid him no heed. With an exasperated sigh he told Corvid to take cover in the hall and wait for him.   
  
He grabbed Craven’s wrist before the tiefling could turn. He wanted to say that they could leave Anton and Roche to their fate. They could leave now, and slip out before the alarm was raised. In stead, he squeezed his warm skin, letting his fingers linger before releasing him. “Be careful.”  
  
The expression on Craven’s face softened, and he smiled then. Those buck teeth he’d hidden away flashed bright beneath his mustache. A fluttering began in Corvid’s breast that settled in his gut when the tiefling leaned forward. He’d anticipated it; the subtle shift in posture, the way his pale eyes flickered down to his lips. Corvid leaned into the kiss and reveled in the warmth of his mouth.   
  
His bristly beard tickled Corvid’s chin as he pulled back. His nose brushed against his, and he pressed his brow to Corvid’s temple. “For luck.”  
  
“Don’t squander it on fools.”  
  
Corvid backed into an alcove a few paces down the hallway. Beside him a partially crumbled statue stared at it’s cracked feet. The serpent heads had been worn down to nothing but an idea of an anathema. In the darkness, he was confident his hiding place would go unnoticed. The dark cloak, with the fur lined hood pulled over his head let him blend into the shadows with relative ease. So long as he kept quiet and controlled his nervous breaths.   
  
Focused on watching the treasure chamber, Corvid failed to notice the soft footfalls until the source walked past him. The vrael woman, in finery befitting a queen, walked with all the grace of an elf, but something struck him as off. A pureblood rarely dressed in a manner of that importance.   
  
As she passed, the bitter odor grew stronger. Corvid held his breath, hoping to remain unnoticed. If she proved dangerous, perhaps he could surprise her. She vanished through the tall archway, and Corvid dared to move then, leaning out of the alcove just enough to see.   
  
He heard a voice then, Anton’s it sounded like, for Craven had a drawling accent akin to those who came from the lands east of the Sea of Fallen Stars. The words were impossible to make out from where he waited, though the inflection appeared to be a question. He wished to step forward, but something in his gut kept his feet firmly in place.   
  
  
It wasn’t long after that his ears rang with a cacophony of sound. Shouts of alarm, followed by a roar echoed off the smooth stone and rattled in his breast. It was short lived, and ended with the metallic clang of metal against stone when gas began to spread from the chamber.   
  
It was then, under the cover of the putrid fog, he dared to step out of hiding. Lowering the hood, he pressed himself against the wall and looked out into the room. It was then he thanked the old muck beast for granting him sight, for the haze appeared to part around the figures in the room. At first he assumed Anton and Roche had simply been knocked out by the poison, but the blood surrounding Roche’s body indicated otherwise. Her breastplate had been crushed by a powerful blow.   
  
What troubled him was Craven. He couldn’t find the tiefling’s distinctive figure anywhere.   
“You aren’t one of mine, little black snake.” A voice said from above. It froze Corvid in place and gripped his chest with fear.   
  
He looked up and saw, clinging to the walls like a lizard, was a massive green form. It’s body was serpentine, with a head not unlike the crocodiles that inhabited the Chultan rivers. Corvid had never seen a dragon this close. He’d never imagined the sheer size of them, for he’d only seen remains, bones or hides. None of it compared to the living thing staring down at him.   
  
Spreading it’s wings, it leapt from the wall. The dragon landed with a grace that didn’t seem possible for a being of it’s size. The gas whirled around it’s body, stirred up by the fluttering of it’s wings. Corvid noticed the haze thinning as it dissipated. “What brings you to my kingdom?”  
  
He couldn’t move. As much as his body screamed at him to flee, his legs refused to cooperate. “Curiosity.” He said, doing his damnedest to conceal the tremble in his voice. “I’d heard Najara had been rebuilt, and I wished to see our ancestral seat.”  
  
The dragon lowered it’s head. Corvid’s heart was racing at how near it’s jaws were to him. That he saw no blood on it’s crocodilian teeth, gave him some hope that Craven had not met a poor fate. “That accent is Chultan, is it not? My, my, you are far from your House. Well, little black snake, what do you think of my city?”  
  
“It is impressive,” he answered, though it was far from the truth. A ruin overrun by lizardfolk, illuminated by an arcane sun was hardly notable. Teeth that were two hand’s in length kept him from giving an honest opinion, however. “I’m certain, with time, Najara will rival the splendor of Menzoberranzan.”  
  
The dragon hummed, lifting it’s head. “I’d much rather it be sooner, rather than later. But,” it paused, and sat on it’s haunches. “It seems some of my labor has escaped, which puts me behind schedule… Which made me wonder, how could they manage such a feat?” Corvid opened his mouth to give his condolences, but the dragon continued: “Did you know, my little eyes and ears told me a wondrous tale of a serpent and a dwarf, two unlikely heroes, freeing my slaves?”  
  
Cold spread down Corvid’s spine as his stomach dropped. This would be how it ended? He expected a knife in the dark as Kwayothé’s assassins finally caught up with him, or perhaps freezing to death in this unforgiving land. Even if he could run, he doubted his ability to evade a dragon. The alcoves provided little cover, and no escape. Outside, if he made it that far, he’d be contending with it’s forces. “A strange tale. I’ve never heard a vrael olo willingly cooperating with a dwarf.”  
  
“Neither have I. Most would rather die than work with a lesser being.” It chuckled, “And I must give your people credit. You serpentfolk are so adept at remaining calm and maintaining a lie. It’s what I like about you. It is a shame. I’m sure you would clean up nicely in my court, but I don’t abide thieves or heroes.”  
  
Corvid felt his body grow hot, and in a panic thought the dragon was the cause. It wasn’t until the comforting odor of burning tar filled his nose that he realized his Patron had a hand in this anomaly. A line of fire raced outward, causing the dragon to rear back in alarm. _Flee. Survive_. The bubbling voice loosened his knees and freed his feet. Corvid took heed, and darted towards the temple doors.   
  
It was there he found Craven. The tiefling was on his knees, beaten, bloody, and coughing violently. Snot clung to his mustache as he tried to clear his lungs of the poison. Two lizardfolks stood on either side, spears pointed at his exposed neck, while four others lay dead on the steps. They looked up in surprise, and Corvid saw them both take a hesitant step back. Assuming the dragon was behind him, he used their hesitance and his fear to rush forward. He grabbed Craven’s horn, and pulled the tiefling along. He stumbled when Craven was slow to stand, nearly careening down the stairs, before regaining his balance.  
   
The scent of tar began to fade as they both wove a trail through buildings, until reaching the cover of the fungal forest. It was there Corvid stopped. His lungs burned, and his side ached. Running was not something he enjoyed. While he could’ve teleported them both, the thunderous sound would’ve alerted the entire city that something was amiss. The time that word spread by mouth gave them the chance they needed for escape.  
  
Craven was staring at him. The tiefling was impressed, and asked if Corvid regularly caught ablaze. That took him aback and he shook his head. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, you came running out of that temple like a living torch, all cracked and blackened. At first I feared you were in pain, but your clothing and hair were unharmed.”  
  
“That… it was something new.”  
  
“Well it was certainly useful.” Craven squeezed his upper arm. “I couldn’t save the others, but I’m glad you made it out.”  
  
“We aren’t out yet.” He feared for the dwarf girl’s safety. A dragon had plenty of room to take flight in this cavern, and their camp would be easily spotted from above. He voiced that worry to Craven.   
  
“Indeed. I’ll warn Delilah to retreat to the tunnel and await our return. This is something that requires a greater force than we currently have.”  
  
“Secomber won’t come to aid." He puffed beside Craven, having trouble catching his breath as they walked. "Do you know of any-“ he paused as an idea began to take root. “Never mind. Let’s get to the surface first.”  
  
  
Under the cover of the dense fungal growth, they managed to reach the camp undetected. Below the city swarmed with activity. Corvid watched the small figures searching every alley, every home, spreading further outward. He did notice, however, all but a handful of them avoided the forest. He suspected that handful were vrael, as lizardfolk had no protection from poisonous spores.  
  
They all lingered long enough to see the dragon emerge from the temple balcony. It's body hunched like a cat ready to pounce before leaping. The great bat-like wings buffeted the unfortunates below it. Delilah, who firmly clung to Corvid as if afraid he’d vanish if she let go, gasped. Her arms wrapped around his waist, “you really talked to that?”  
  
“Come on,” Craven urged. “We have a long trek ahead, and I don’t wish to meet that beast in the tunnels.”  
  
“It said something about eyes and ears.” Corvid said, as they squeezed through the narrow opening that led to the main passage.   
  
“Dragons occasionally use the local fauna as spies.”  
  
“Does that mean it’s watching us right now?” Delilah asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.  
  
“It's a possibility. However, it requires time to scry through each creature in it’s lair. Unless it got very lucky, we have a chance of making it out of here undetected.”  
  
  
Slowed by careful steps and hyper vigilance, they reached the abandoned goblin camp hours later. Garak hadn’t waited for them. Corvid felt some disappointment at not being able to give the bugbear a proper farewell. There was relief, though. He’d enjoyed the bugbear’s company, that was for certain, but felt no emotional attachment to him. The kiss shared with Craven was proof of that, and the memory still made his stomach flutter.   
  
Delilah’s nervousness gave way to questions, emboldened by the sunlight filtering through the cave mouth. “Was the dragon male or female?”  
  
Corvid shrugged, and Craven responded: “It’s difficult to tell. It took a feminine form, but dragons can take many shapes depending on what best suits them.”  
  
The questions followed them into the light. How large was it up close; what did it smell like; what sort of treasure did it have? Corvid did his best to answer it, all the while hoping she had not seen Anton and Roche from her vantage point. That was news he did not wish to break to her. Not yet, anyway; for it was a tale best suited for a safe place, in a tavern far from these hills.   
  
“Delilah, do you remember the path we took?” He asked, hoping to distract her from probing further.  
  
“Yeah. Were you not paying attention?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, darling. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but I found myself staring at the ground trying to avoid catching my boots on rocks and roots.”  
  
Delilah sighed, “that’s why you pick your feet up.”  
  
Before departing, they scoured the camp for anything left behind. Goblins were efficient at camp clean up, it seemed. Not a scrap of food remained. Only pieces of bones too hard to gnaw through littered the corners. Both Corvid and Delilah had enough rations between them to reach Secomber, but to share with Craven would mean meals would be light unless they took the time to forage. That was time they didn’t have.   
  
He expressed his desire for speed, and Craven agreed. The tiefling wasn’t sure how large this dragon’s territory was, and he wished to be clear of it as soon as possible.   
  
For now he kept the plan to himself, for it wasn’t fully realized. Corvid just knew he needed to get to the swampy flats where they’d first met Garak and his crew.


End file.
